We haven’t been on our holidays (well, I have, but you know what I mean) and despite the coming and going of group personnel we are still writing, and with what seems like a gentle purposefulness.
In her poem “Questions of Travel”, Elizabeth Bishop asks: ‘Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?’ When this was given to the group as a starting point for ideas, the pertinent question ‘where is home?’ seemed to come naturally (as it does to Bishop, who ends the poem with: ‘Should we have stayed at home,/ wherever that may be?’).
Where is home? Here are some of the responses.
‘I only ever feel ‘at home’ when I am on drugs or when I am with free people. I never really felt at home with my family. It’s only recently I realised this. This is because I don’t trust my family. I don’t feel at home with people I don’t trust. I need to be around people who don’t wish me harm, in order to feel at home. Feeling at home is long overdue for me. Every job I’ve had I’ve not felt at home. My family feels like strangers yet they still want me in their lives. It’s up to me who I have in my life. I will feel at home one day soon.’
Where is home
My home is within myself.
Every city and country is where I live.
I am one with God and he is everything, and in his home is where I live.
To know God is to know the miracle of life.
People might laugh at this philosophy but they only laugh at themselves, because facts is facts.
IT’S NOT ******* ROCKET SCIENCE’
‘I’ve a house and a garden in the country
A place I call my own
a place I can retreat to when I need to be alone.
A PLACE I CAN RETREAT TO WHEN I NEED TO BE ALONE.
YES NATURE HERE IS WONDERFUL THERE ARE NO NEED FOR WORDS’
(G said these are somebody else’s words that he has memorised but I haven’t been able to find them on-line—so if they are yours or you know who they belong to let me know)
where is home ?
how should I know?
lost in a crowd
this way and that
all at sea
without a boat
in no-where’s slip-stream
shrivelled by heat
swamped by rain
nobody’s child again
Guests at the writing sessions can write what ever they want. Some may be a bit on the random side—such as:
I like birds, sparrows and pigeons, and so does my pal, his name is littlen. All my life we have watched all of the different kinds of birds there are. Some we can name, some we can’t but they are all as pretty as each other. But littlen, my pal, gets cheeky at times and starts eyeing up the unfeathered type.
But I don’t mind.
But song lyrics are one of the constants of the writing sessions, as many of the writers are musicians too.
There will be no darkness tonight
May be your love will shine
lighting the light
Just put your trust in my heart
and you’ll be in paradise-
No one can resist the desire to escape to paradise
But it seems like all there’s left to do is dream and fantasise.
one day we will be free from fighting violence
people crying in the street
There’s an angel from above
come down and spread her wings of love
Just listen to me what will be will be
have no worries no more misery
a state of ecstacy for eternity
Just be happy….
Some prove more elusive than others. W was desperate to write a song for his girl friend but even with help from three or four of us one verse and part of a chorus was all we could manage. He wanted it to be pop and a bit cheesy (but not too cheesy) but also to say something meaningful about their relationship. Quite an art and we’re not very good, as yet (and I find working collaboratively a challenge).
W’s Love Song
When I hold you close
I feel alive This sensation
I can’t describe I’m mesmerised
When our eyes collide all I
Want is to hold you tight
and make you mine
When you smile
you light up my day
(W was going away to work on his lyric, so we might get the finished piece at a later date)
All on my own
Where I belong
Never someone to sing me a song
But I’ve got my soul
and I’ve got my heart
but it only ends up as the final cut.
Time after time I seek my life
as it is permanently being destroyed
But nothing can be done,
for my power is my joy.
Even I had a go (not at all finished).
Do you remember the way
we grew up on clouds
out in the garden sheltering
from the rain of love
as it fell on me
on you, on we?
Remembering the calling
in the falling for us to follow
round the corner on our
hands and knees, watching
the days creep by, feet first
under the rain of love
falling from the clouds above.
As a poet word-play is one of the things I get a sneaky pleasure from, so I know ‘the rain of love’ can be heard as ‘the rein of love’ or ‘the reign of love’—each one giving a different emphasis. Also ‘rain of love’ what does that mean? It sounds a bit dreary, so perhaps ‘on we’ sums it up.
Ta ta for now.